On the best of days I try to crumble myself into an un-self, my withdrawal symptoms notwithstanding, but I’d just like to be out in the sun, because most days artificial light bore me - as artificial life is so, I am not a chicken, and nor should chickens be chickens. The last time my boyfriend and I talked was before he killed himself under a bridge, which I thought was much too melodramatic for my tastes even as I held his mother in my arms, and I secretly wondered if her tears were warmer than my own. I told him that veganism has it wrong, and his veganism had it wrong too; In every meal there is death, because who says animals are better than friends are better than yeast - who, but your pretentious pseudophilosophical moral system that has this sadist-masochistic fascination with pain?
He told me to acknowledge pain.
I said all pain is equal, with a nervous system or without.
He told me to give my best in the interview tomorrow. I said I won’t make it anywhere.
Wouldn’t I want to if it wasn’t for me? I purchased twelve new beds, one for each month of the year, and I sleep in them until the formaldehyde dissipates and I return them to the store. Maybe a single mother’s baby won’t get leukemia and I, I will get dumber by the day

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On the worst days I try to expand myself into an out-self, my addiction symptoms notwithstanding, but I’d just like to be indoors, out of the sun, because most days real light excites me - as real life is so, I am a chicken, and chickens should be chickens.

The last time my girlfriend and I talked was before she lived himself under a bridge, which I thought was much too subtle for my tastes even as I pushed her mother from my arms, and I wondered out loud if her laughter was colder than my own.

I told her that veganism has it right, and her veganism had it right too; In rare meals there is life, because I say animals are worse than friends, are worse than yeast - who, but your grounded learned philosophical immoral character than loves pleasure?

She told me to acknowledge pleasure.

I said all pleasure is equal, with a nervous system or without.

She told me to show my worst in the interview tomorrow. I said I’ll make it everywhere.

Would I want to if it was for me?

I sold twenty four old beds, and I will never sleep in them until the formaldehyde pools and I leave them to dry. Maybe a father’s father will get leukemia and I, I will get smarter by the day

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“upside down boy you turning me, inside out, round and round”

“the love i lost, the love the love I lost, was a sweet love it was a sweet love”

Jerry sings to themselves and they sweep the one floor…or was it four?

counting time takes time.

and I’ve managed to make this rhythm.
the odd one out will lead the pack
and right now that is black?

wanna trade me for white?
not tonight.

ying and yang is oh so tao-ired
a compass is useful
dont sweat the small things

whats the matter with matter when it’s meta is it better?
in a while crocodile.

tick tock goes the clock
and by hook or by crook
no fairies will be hurt (even emotionally, psychologically or spiritually) in the making of this story

My dearest friend, imaginary friend, if I am not working or picking a spot to jump in the ocean - it’s deep enough, I won’t die from impact - I think of her whenever I can. A lifetime of child pageants, it’s in my blood. Whatever he does I’ll do it better. I’ll see the giant squids and I’ll feel aerial, toxins, toxins everywhere. I won’t jump into an oil spill but you will never be sure. I want to survive but be damaged.

There is this obsession of chasing after a version of yourself you thought were happy. I wrote down a year’s worth of dreams and find myself manic in all of them, I have usurped monarchies and created new world orders, I’ve landed helicopters and given birth and killed; but I get on the subway, any morning. because the dark is the only comforting thing about life, the subway an eternal vagina. As long as there’s no work you can choose when to be born, which is, always. My work is always done for me because I am pitied. Le petit genie they call me there.

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I struggled in the tube, the sound so much like a butcher, so much like a nightmare, so much like a dream, such a very very very dark matter it would seem.

I met the soul of the internet once and told it I would come back when I understood.
Perhaps I would need to be alien.
Perhaps I am

I am two person at once. I stay in the tube but I sleep elsewhere. I am never lonely, I call my friends and parents, I am well-connected. I maintain social decorum and proper debauchery, I commit expected degenerate behavior, I fit in so well although I am a child. I stayed children because children are absolute and I’ve never drifted into moral relativism, even after schooling, there is no grey except man made grey, and grey looks ugly on anyone young. I take my business to banks and ballrooms and all my hobbies make sense. But then there are things like the death of my boyfriend and the bed-buying thing I do, and then there are other better things like car-scratching and shoplifting and mushroom growing, but none escape the mirror. Perhaps I’ll tell myself that none of it really happened. I imagined a boyfriend and all my beds, all my headaches and withdrawal symptoms. I used to take something serious but I’m not allowed to remember what, or how.

Hi again

I remember when I was two people. It was hard. The loss of the boyfriend and car-scratching sound rough. Maybe for you it is easy.

I can’t imagine what you are going through.

I never know who I think I am talking to in moments like these. Anyways, about me then. I’m a full blown adult, with a whole inner adult voice that is kinda nice to the children-me and sometimes they are out in full force, and I wail and tantrum, but with the sweet understanding of my adult self. It sucks sometimes to be so fucking responsible but the consequences are always so much more shitty when I’m not. I feel deadlocked by fate.

but also lost in deep conversation with myself on the relationship between fate, faith and will. And then obviously the existence of magic and time travel, justice and collective healing.

There are moments though when the moral relativity of it all gets too much, but not with shades of grey. I find colour is a much better medium for balance than the middle ground of black and white. But yes, I get overwhelmed, sometimes my mind opens so wide that I get lost in ideas that I think I can understand everything and I try to send myself messages for when I come back through the mad happenings with whoever is there to witness me and then I end up institutionalized. It has been hard without a shaman to guide me.

I’ve learnt that the self has been a really important anchor for my own sanity. That bullshit they sell about the ego being a dickhead is the reason so many people think we are suppose to hate ourselves and I promise, what is left to be explored in those territories is pretty competitive.

The self allows me to find my body and my reality, which is for the best when you are in a straightjacket in a shitty public hospital in a different part of the country and the nurses, who are too cruel to everyone, become scared of you because the straightjacket is pretty comfy. Like hugging yourself.

Maybe that is why I am an activist. I don’t think I would survive if I wasn’t trying to change the world because most people around me seem stuck and if I was just being myself I might spend the rest of my life in an asylum or a weird farm full of white hippies who don’t understand that they are not indigo children or have karmic superiority for wanting to escape to the farmlands where they can return to the ‘old ways’. but that the land is far beyond the means of the descendants of the indigenous and slaves who were given drug and alcohol addictions by the government to intentionally fuck them up - this obviously doesn’t account for the loss of language, cultural and spiritual practice. Nor does this account for the intentionally inferior education system that still means the vast majority of the country are not equipped for meaningful work from their schooling, the high levels of all types of violence and so many things that I could rattle off in utter disbelief and grief that I am forced off any idea of the farm of nice hippies who are intentionally unaware of their history because the ignorance allows them to detach and live good vibe lives.

or being lazily melancholic because all pain is equal because I have tried to make sense of that and it is not true.

I don’t know if I am projecting again, but I seem to think I help the people around me and a 15 year old just send me a DM the other day to tell me that he did his school assignment on one of my projects because my partner and I are his role models (and he got full marks), so we are setting up a zoom meeting with him and his friends and I think I feel cooler that he does.

I am learning to allow myself to be proud of my achievements, which feels like a historic victory for my people, especially those who pass through my body. Self love is a political act, yo but still, I had a lot of men mentors when I was younger, which accounts for the patriarchal tendencies you might sometimes pickup - sorry bout that I am working on it.

and forgiveness (this one is especially nice for the broken heart)

I hope that by the time I die, I am so spent and also so released that I’ll be proud of whoever it is that is housed in the body and that they can in turn hold this body as sacred in those last moments even if I am scared, insecure, in mourning or joy during a really dull and aged dream or agony from the repeated wound to the head by an unnamed officer or abandoned and alone coughing blood.

I have honored my life. Despite, Despite, Despite.